


and the sirens washed ashore

by wariangle



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1855045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wariangle/pseuds/wariangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My heart belongs to the sea," Max says, looking up and straight into Eleanor's eyes, "but sometimes even I grow tired of its restless waves. I would sleep on land for the next few nights."</p><p>"If you wish for a room, Mr Scott will see you attended," Eleanor says, very distracted by the circling motion Max is making with her thumb against her pulse point.</p><p>Max grins. "I think we both know that I will not spend my nights in port anywhere but in your bed, Eleanor Guthrie."</p><p>-<br/>Max is a pirate captain arriving in Nassau.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the sirens washed ashore

**Author's Note:**

> I know this has more ocean-references than a nightwish album, but I just couldn't help myself.

Eleanor sighs, rubs a hand across her tired eyes, and takes another sip of rum. The hour is late and she would much rather be in bed, but on this particular night it seems there is no end to the blasted pile of documents on her desk.

"Fucking inventory lists," she mutters and grabs the decanter to refill her glass to the brim when there is a solid knock on the door.

"Come in if you have a very good reason for it!" she shouts.

Scott opens the door and sticks in his head. "The captain of the Siren wishes to meet with you, Miss Guthrie."

"And who the fuck is the captain of the Siren?" Eleanor asks and violently jots down yet another goddamn number in her ledger. "Kindly tell the captain of the Siren that he can see me, like everyone else, when the fucking sun is up."

"She was quite insistent," Scott says. "Would you come down?"

Scott is smiling when Eleanor finally looks up, as he no doubt knew she would. He knows that she would never willfully do a thing that would be to the disadvantage of a woman same as her - in a position men will try to topple her from solely on the basis of her sex. He saw the effort with which she clawed her way to control over the trade and tavern on Nassau and what she has to do to ensure her continued position.

She narrows her eyes at his foul tactics, but do rise from her chair. The bones in her neck and shoulders creak - at least her body is grateful for the interruption. "Fine," she says and follows Scott down the stairs, straightening her clothes as good as she is able and hoping that the creases on her blouse is not too noticeable. A lazy-looking marketeer does not generally come across as either especially trustworthy or authoritative and Eleanor has learned that to succeed she needs to appear to be both.

The captain is alone and sitting with her back to the room which means Eleanor does not see her face until she sits down in front of her. She is very beautiful, she finds, with brown curls and large, enchanting eyes the colour of bright, polished wood.

"I am Max," she says and pushes a glass filled generously with rum across the table towards Eleanor.

"Eleanor Guthrie," Eleanor says and they clink their glasses and drink.

"I am looking to lighten the load on my ship," Max says, leaning back in her chair. "The cargo hold is filled to bursting with silk, tobacco and gold."

"I have never seen you here before," Eleanor says, swirling the amber liquid around her glass, eyes fastened on Max. "Yet if the boasting of your cargo holds true, this is not the first prize you have taken. Why have I not seen you here before?"

"My captaincy is new," Max says after a brief pause. "My predecessor did things differently. I wish for a permanent business agreement here on Nassau."

"We pay in coin, trade or credit the moment your goods enter my warehouse," Eleanor says. "I take four reals on the dollar, at this juncture. The more you earn, the better are the terms you get. If you do not find them agreeable, you may drink up and be on your way."

Max grins and throws back her drink. "And if I order another? Surely it would be bad for business to lose a returning costumer, am I right?"

Eleanor waves a serving girl over and Max orders another bottle of rum.

"Your terms are harsh," Max says.

"They are fair," Eleanor retorts. "You will find no better marketeer in the West Indies. My prices may be high, but so will your profits be."

"Well said," Max says. "Very well, I agree. You seem a reliable woman, one such as I need on my side." She smiles and sends Eleanor a glance that has Eleanor's cheeks grow red. Max holds out her hand and Eleanor takes it.

"I will send my men to help unload in the morning," Eleanor says and stands. "Thank you for the drink."

As Eleanor passes Max's chair, Max reaches out and takes hold of her wrist, strong fingers warm against Eleanor's skin.

"My heart belongs to the sea," Max says, looking up and straight into Eleanor's eyes, "but sometimes even I grow tired of its restless waves. I would sleep on land for the next few nights."

"If you wish for a room, Mr Scott will see you attended," Eleanor says, very distracted by the circling motion Max is making with her thumb against her pulse point.

Max grins. "I think we both know that I will not spend my nights in port anywhere but in your bed, Eleanor Guthrie."

  


Eleanor goes easily as Max pushes her down on her bed and then proceeds to fall to her knees. Eleanor hastily spreads her legs as Max pulls up her skirts, already panting from pent-up arousal.

Biting, lingering kisses travel up her knees and inner thighs and Eleanor sighs, hands curling loosely into fists around the bedding in anticipation of what is to come. Max takes great pleasure in teasing her, brushes her mouth in soft kisses against Eleanor's throbbing cunt, but focuses her attention on her thighs and her stomach, drawing a wet line from hip bone to hip bone with her tongue.

Max presses laughter into the juncture of thigh and hip as Eleanor's hand grasps the back of her head, needy and impatient.

"You are as wet and welcoming as the sea," Max muses, her head pillowed on Eleanor's hips as her fingers caress and just barely dip inside of Eleanor. It is a frustrating, tickling kind pleasure and Eleanor strains between pushing into it and away.

Max bites into the soft skin of Eleanor's thigh which causes Eleanor to jolt with a moan and Max rewards her by finally, finally, putting her mouth were Eleanor wants it, tongue curling into and against her most sensitive place. Max lays all teasing aside, hands gripping Eleanor's hips as her mouth works against her cunt, seemingly intent to all but devour her.

Eleanor never does this, lies back and surrenders control, but Max washes over her like a tidal wave, strong and compelling, pulling Eleanor with her into the depths. Eleanor bites into the flesh of her own palm, the sharp flash of pain doing little to ground her against the onslaught of Max's mouth and hands and those eyes gazing up at Eleanor, glimmering with the knowledge of what she is doing to her.

She cries out loudly as she comes, careless of who might hear, tasting blood as her teeth bite down on skin, her hips shoving hard against Max's hands. Max laughs again, deep and rough, and lifts her head from between Eleanor's legs. Her lips are slick and shining from Eleanor's cunt and it sends a hot spike of pleasure through her. Breathing harshly and blinking against the blur in her vision, she reaches out for Max. She tastes of salt and fucking as Eleanor kisses her.

She undoes Max's shirt, sliding one hand inside to cup a heavy breast while the other undoes her trousers. Max pulls them down herself and immediately positions Eleanor's hand where she wants it. Eleanor considers teasing, like Max did her, but instead she rakes her fingertips through the patch of dark hair and slides two fingers into her, Max hips lifting and adjusting to get them precisely right. Eleanor's other hand opens her shirt completely, laying Max's chest bare to her touch.

Max puts her weights on her elbows above her, giving Eleanor's hand room to move and thrust freely into her. Max is so wet and warm around her, tightening with every rough stroke of Eleanor's fingers, breasts moving tantalizingly above Eleanor to the rhythm of their fucking.

Eleanor enjoys the sharp sound Max lets out in disappointment when she lets her fingers slip free of her more than she probably should, and quickly rolls them over to have Max spread out beneath her. She bends down, tongue sliding into Max's mouth and kisses her deeply, easily, for a long moment.

Her mouth leaves Max's to slide further down, to map put the angle of her jaw, the column of her throat, the slope of her collarbones and breasts. The supple expanse of her stomach trembles beneath the touch of Eleanor's lips and tongue and she lets her fingers follow the path of her mouth, causing Max to giggle among her gasps and soft moans.

Eleanor parts Max's legs and licks into her, and the taste of her floods her mouth, heady like the rum they finished off barely an hour past. Max thighs clamp fast around Eleanor's shoulders and Eleanor revels in the way Max rasps out her name, over and over until she comes with her lips parted in a soundless cry.

\- - -

Max spreads the map out on the table between them and weighs its corners down with the butt of her spy glass, an empty bottle, a rock and her hand as she leans over the table. She puts her finger in the middle of the map.

"Here," she says, "is where we will cross paths with the Victoria. And blades, if all go well," she adds with a wry smile. "With the treasure off her we will have enough to fence at Nassau."

"Nassau?" Eme asks. "Somewhat out of our way, isn't it?"

" _Oui_ ," Max agrees smoothly. "But we have a standing deal with miss Guthrie. A good deal. It will be worth our while."

"Mhm," Anne mutters from her corner, her hands, as ever, busy with sharpening one of her many blades. "Do we trade in Nassau because it fills our purse or because it wets your cunt?"

Max's whereabouts during their nights in port has not gone unnoticed by her crew. She does not care - as long as there is no risk it will undermine her authority, that is. "As long as I make good decisions because it wets my cunt, rather than bad ones, you will have nothing to worry about," she says and Anne gives her a sharp nod.

Max knows that as long as she deserves it she will have Anne Bonny's undivided loyalty. If she ever fails her duties as captain, however, Anne's blade will be the one that slits her throat.

"Max is right," Rackham says. "She may have more than one reason to return to Nassau, but the books clearly state that trading with miss Guthrie is of an advantage of us, also aside the fact that she keeps our captain in a good mood."

Max ignores him. "Winds willing," she says as she rolls up the map to indicate that the meeting is over, "we will encounter the Victoria in two days time."

  


The winds do prove willing and in the middle of the afternoon two days hence, Eme loudly calls out, "Sails ahead!"

"To your stations!" Max shouts, her command echoed by Anne down on the deck and Eme at the bow and followed by a sudden frenzy of milling movement as weapons are gathered, the cannons loaded and boarding hooks brought forth.

Max hurries down onto the deck and grabs a boarding hook for herself, making sure it is tied fast securely. Anne grabs the one next to her, a blade held between clenched teeth and dozens more strapped to her belt and legs.

The Victoria is a fast ship, making good headway towards them, and perhaps the captain of another ship would have been worried that their prey would have had a chance to slip away before they had secured it, but what the Siren lacks in size she makes up for in speed.

Even so, the wait is agonizing, as always. Max's pulse thunders in her ears louder for every passing minute and her grip around her guns grow slick from sweat in the heat. The sea is calm today, strikingly blue from the sun and breaking gently against the ships sailing through it. The air seems almost to still in order to wait along with them and Max adjusts her grip, sweat beading on her forehead, readied...

"Now!" she shouts. "Drop the anchor! Hoist the colours!" Again, her commands are echoed throughout the ship, the words carrying on the water like a war cry, chilling the blood on everyone aboard the Victoria along with the black flag now climbing its way up the mast.

She hears screams and the sound of breaking wood as the cannons go off. Quickly she swings her hook across, adjusts her grip and grins at Anne. "Time to sing," she says.

\- - -

Eleanor squints at the numbers on the paper in her hand, trying to read them out correctly in the dim light. She really should light more candles, but Max is sleeping so peacefully in her bed and more light would certainly wake her. Eleanor wishes she could put off work a few days, but with the wares brought in not only by the Siren but also by the Walrus and the Andromeda her stores are overflowing and she needs to get rid of some silk and tea quickly but without losing too much revenue. She has a potential English buyer, the problem being that she trusts him about as far as she can throw him.

There are days when Eleanor wonders why she fought so hard to take over her father's business, instead of leaving it to whatever jackal that would have managed to secure it first.

Deciding that there is simply no way her warehouse can be made to hold the current amount of goods for a longer period of time, she sighs and swiftly composes a letter to her English buyer. At least she will be rid of it sooner rather than later, and hopefully it will not return to bite her in the ass.

Putting down the pen, she rises quietly from the chair and blows out the candles. She undresses in the dark, leaving her garments where they fall on the floor. Max is snoring loudly and Eleanor slips eagerly beneath the sheet to curl around her warm and pliant body.

Her lips find the soft curve of Max's shoulder and her arm settle over her waist. Max hair smells of dried salt. The scent fills Eleanor with yearning and melancholy alike, much like the woman herself. It is the third time now that the Siren has landed in Nassau and it never takes long before Max seeks out Eleanor's bed.

Eleanor does not love easily, but, once she finally lets someone in, she does so fiercely. Much like the sea, she does easily not let go of what has once found itself into her heart. Like this place. Like Max. Perhaps that is why Max is so drawn to her, the same way she is to the sea.

She kisses Max's cheek and closes her eyes, quickly drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

\- - -

Eleanor is on the beach, walking barefoot in the sand and reveling in a short respite from work when sails are sighted at the horizon. The ship sails closer at a creeping pace and Eleanor's heart clenches in her chest as she recognizes the shape of it.

The Siren left port half a month ago and should not be back for weeks - Max should not be back for weeks. There is little Eleanor can do as the ship proceeds to land, but by then it is clear that the ship has suffered damage: the hull and the sails are roughly and insufficiently patched, the flag is torn, and one mast seems to wobble slightly in the gentle wind.

Eleanor can hardly breathe as she rushes down and into the sea to meet the whiff leaving the Siren. The setting sun is preventing her from making out anything but vague shapes until the boat is all but next to her.

The first thing Eleanor registers is Max, her face grim and with a nasty-looking scratch across her eyebrow, but alive and breathing. Secondly, she notices Max's accountant, Rackham, stretched out on the bottom of the boat, blood seeping sluggishly out of a bandage wrapped tightly around his chest.

"What...?" Eleanor begins.

"Bad luck," Max interrupts her. "We need help."

"You shall have it," Eleanor says. She is not the only one who has waded out into the water and the whiff is quickly reeled ashore and sent back to the Siren to bring in the rest of its crew. Eleanor tries to help as best as she is able, but her water-heavy skirts weighs her down and causes her to stumble on the sliding sand as she hurries up to the tavern to fetch the physician.

She runs a guest out of his room on the lower floor and Anne and Scott lowers Rackham gently to the bed. Anne growls at the physician as he tries to sweep her aside to reach his patient and he steps back, startled. Max forcibly moves Anne over to the other side of the bed, leaving Mr Williams free to attend the wound.

Max's hand finds Eleanor's and Eleanor turns to her, "Are you well?"

"When my crew and my ship is mended, I will be," Max answers grimly.

"What happened?"

"First, a storm," Max says. "Then we were attacked by a British ship, out hunting pirates. We were lucky to escape at all. She is fast, my Siren, even when hurt."

Eleanor squeezes her hand in an attempt to offer whatever comfort she is able.

  


The crew of the Siren, and Max, remain in Nassau for weeks as repairs are made on the ship and Rackham, the crew member with the most severe injuries, heals. Eleanor despises herself for the way each day pushing Max's departure further into the future makes her heart soar.

Eleanor has done everything she can to ensure that Max and her crew does not suffer to great a loss to some danger to herself - if words gets out about how much she has lowered her percentage for Max's sake, she will lose all respectability and too many clients. But it is done and, for her, a risk well worth taking.

Even so, Max is restless, working on her ship from early morning to late into the night. It takes considerable effort for Eleanor to lure her away and some days, when Max's mood is particularly foul, she does not even bother and falls asleep alone in her bed only to find an exhausted and snoring Max there in the morning.

"I understand how hard this is for you," Eleanor mumbles into the crook of Max's neck on one of the nights Max has made time for her. Their bodies are heavy with post-coital bliss and sticky with slow-drying sweat. "But try and look at it from the other side. This means more time here, with me. For us."

Max twists away and the pleasant moment they just shared is instantly dispelled. "I love you, Eleanor," she says, "but not even you are worth the loss of my freedom."

Eleanor sits up and sweeps the sheet around her, suddenly feeling cold and vulnerable in her nakedness. "Freedom? You can be just as free here with me." She takes Max's hands in hers, but Max pulls them away.

"You do not understand," she says. "You pay for my food, the repairs of my ship, the continued loyalty of my crew. It is not freedom, Eleanor, to be indebted to you."

"What is mine is yours," Eleanor tries, but Max just shakes her head.

"If I wanted to be paid for, I would have remained a whore," she says and turns over, facing away from Eleanor.

Eleanor turns over to the other side, wounded and sad, feeling as if the few inches separating their bodies are as wide as the seven seas.

  


It remains between them, a sharp, chafing thing, even though they do not discuss it again. It is there like a shadow over every conversation, every kiss, every time they make love and Eleanor does not know what to do. She loves Max with all her heart and she only wishes the best for her, wishes to aid her and support her in whatever way she can. It is hurtful, she has to admit to herself, that Max does not appreciate her help.

And Max hungers for the sea, for wind in her sails and all the treasures of the British Empire laid out for her taking, which puts a further rift between them.

On the day the Siren is finally sea-worthy again, Eleanor and Max kiss farewell on the beach before Max steps into the whiff. Eleanor remains on the beach until preparations are done aboard the Siren and the ship leaves for the horizon.

\- - -

"Our losses are remarkably small, we have good wind and the ocean is laid out at our feet," Rackham says. "What causes that frown on your face, Captain?"'

"I pay you to worry about books and numbers," Max says. "Not me."

It is late night and the ship is sliding slowly and quietly through open water. Most of the crew are asleep or at work but Max and her closest crew members are up on the deck, drinking in the dark.

"Should just bring the she-devil on," Eme says. "She has a way, that one. None of the crew would dare grumble."

"To Eleanor, this," Max's hand connects with the smooth wood of the railing with a dull sound, "is just planks and tar and rope. She would never leave Nassau." She gazes down into the sea, thick and glimmering in the light of the ships' lanterns. "She loves that place as I do this ship."

Anne scoffs. "It's late as fuck," she says and empties her cup in a single gulp.

"She is right," Max agrees. "The sea takes pity on no tired fool. Tomorrow we land in Tortuga for supplies and I want it to go quick and easy."

The rest of them nod their acquiescence and scamper off towards their bunks. Despite her words, Max remain at the railing, staring off into darkness. It was from Tortuga she escaped onto a ship a lifetime ago, in disguise and with no further ambitions than to escape Noonan and his greed. Her plan had been to hitchhike to the closest port, leave, and find a new, better, place to conduct her business.

She had never planned on staying on at all, much less taking a ship for herself. But the sea had snared her as surely as if she had plummeted into its dark blue depths. The riches was another lure, naturally, but what Max loves is the view of the ocean as land is left far behind, stretching endlessly in all directions, unconstrained and untamed.

A pirate's life is no harder than a whore's and Max has to admit she finds the watery grave waiting for her at the bottom of the sea far more pleasant than slowly succumbing to syphilis, or dying from a failed abortion, or at the hands of a violent john.

Eleanor is a piece of the puzzle that does not quite fit in. Max smiles, wondering if there is anywhere Eleanor really, truly, fits in. She is a force greater than life itself and far too much for most to handle. Eleanor is a thing Max did not plan to make room for, a presence anchoring her to land as surely as if there was an invisible piece of rope stretching between both their hearts across the miles of water separating them.

She sighs, gaze locked unseeing on the waves frothing around the stern of her ship, her thoughts far away.

\- - -

It's been months since Max last stepped foot in Nassau. She returns first when her cargo hold is filled, eager to regain what losses she suffered from the failed attack. With the way she and Eleanor left things between them last time, she does not know what kind of welcome her presence will warrant, but she knows that regardless of Eleanor's feelings on the matter of their relationship, she will not cheat Max of her profit.

She is not on the beach, nor in the storehouses or the tavern. Max ascends the stairs slowly and pushes open the door to Eleanor's room, the room they share during Max's stays on the island.

Eleanor is sitting at her desk, as usual, bent over documents and ledges with a frown on her beautiful, precious face. It deepens as she looks up at the intrusion, but immediately disappears as she lays eyes on Max.

"Hello," Max says. She saunters over to where Eleanor is sitting and slides her arms around her neck in an embrace. Eleanor warmly accepts the kiss Max gives her and despite her show of confidence, Max is greatly relieved.

The chair makes a scraping sound as Eleanor stands to pull Max closer, whispers, "Hello, my love," sweetly in her ear, and kisses her again, deeply and as if Max's mouth is the air she needs to keep from drowning. Without interrupting the kiss, she looses the cloth Max is wearing tied over her head and runs her fingers through the mess of her hair.

Eleanor is suddenly on her desk, legs spread and wrapped securely around Max, paper scattering on the floor, and she is begging Max to fuck her, already pulling up her own skirts and leaving hot, biting kisses across Max's mouth and chin and neck.

" _Fuck me_ ," Eleanor says again and all Max want to do is is rip her skirts loose and sink her fingers into her, feel her wet hold around her, and fuck her until she screams from it.

"I have missed you," Eleanor murmurs in her ear, her words and the feel of her lips sending shivers through Max's body. Her hand is holding on almost painfully hard to Max's shoulder, the other to the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

Max tilts her face up gently and kisses her full on the mouth for many moments, seeking to ground them both.

"I have been thinking," she says and Eleanor all but growls from frustration. "I have been thinking," Max repeats, refusing to be side-tracked, her fingers drawing mindless patterns on Eleanor's arm. "I have been here with you, in your world, many times. It is time for you to be with me in mine. Come with me on the Siren as we sail, _ma chérie_."

The grip of Eleanor's thighs around her hips loosens and Eleanor sits up straight on the desk, sobered. "I can't," she says. "Max, my business, Mr Scott, my income, my tavern - everything I have in this world is here."

"Not me," Max says firmly. "Mr Scott will handle everything, you know he will. And you cannot tell me you have not dreamt of this. Piracy and adventures over the seven seas." She smiles. "Your father will choke on his tea when he hears of it."

Eleanor smiles in return. It is a small smile, but it is there. "I can't just leave," she says.

"You will return," Max says. "Nassau will not crumble into the sea the moment you step of off it, I promise you. Come with me."

Slowly, Eleanor nods. "If Mr Scott agrees," she says, and while her voice is slightly reluctant, it is determined and her smile a bit wider. "I will come with you."

"Good," Max says. She steps back in close and Eleanor's legs tighten around her anew. "Now, I believe we have important business to see to."

Eleanor laughs and Max's kisses her, glad and thankful that, at least for now, this storm is blown over.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://wariangle.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
